


Love is a Many-Tentacled Beast

by kalime80



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalime80/pseuds/kalime80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has a stalker, or is it a secret admirer? What does Potter have to do with it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a Many-Tentacled Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Author/Artist LJ Name: [kalime80](http://kalime80.livejournal.com/)  
> Prompter: annabellemint  
> Prompt Number: # 39  
> Title: Love Is a Many-Tentacled Beast  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco; Hermione/Blaise; hints of Ron/Pansy  
> Summary: Draco has a stalker, or is it a secret admirer? What does Potter have to do with it?  
> Rating: R  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): switching P.O.V.s, first person, present tense, bestiality (nothing really graphic or explicit); contains a G rated illustration  
> Epilogue compliant? No way!  
> Word Count: 7,400  
> Author's Notes: Many thanks to my beta for her priceless work: she kept the narrative juices flowing and set my punctuation to rights.  
> I also wish to thank the prompter and star_sailor13 for the tentacle goodies: both the prompt and the banner were exceedingly inspiring. Last but not least, thanks to the mods for their awesomeness.

Someone is stalking me.  
  
Even in Slytherin common room I clearly feel a presence watching me, checking my every move.  
Pansy and Blaise think I’m paranoid but I know the truth.  
  
I can’t go to the Headmistress, not after Mother begged her to allow me to attend this Eighth Year of school. It was a bad idea—one I was strongly against—but Mother insisted it was the only way to get back the Malfoys' good name; to get me a future. The Headmistress agreed and granted me the right to be educated. She also promised I won’t be the target of revenge attempts by other students since I came out of the trials completely clean, but I am not safe here. This world is clearly gone to the pigs if even the word of a Gryffindor can’t be trusted.  
  
  
  
  
  
 _Ron thinks I’m obsessed with Malfoy. He says Malfoy can’t be up to something now that the war is over. He says I should relax, go on with my life, and let the Ferret be. Problem is, I can’t do that.  
  
I know Draco is not up to anything—I was there at his trial, when he was pardoned but had to swear on his wand that he’ll behave. I was there at the Manor: I saw the sparkle of recognition in his eyes when he lied about my identity. I felt his hand willingly release his wand—together with the other ones he was keeping—to my grip. I was there in the Room of Requirements: I saw the sparkle of fear in his eyes when the Fiendfyre was roaring around us. I felt his arms close around my waist, holding on for dear life.  
  
I’ve never been relaxed around Draco, not ever. I think now I have a better idea of why this is so. I doubt Ron would find it reassuring. It’s so simple I wonder why it took me so many years to figure it out. Maybe because the Dursleys hammered into my brain that I’m already enough of a freak. No need to be attracted to another boy. And attracted is so weak a word anyway.  
  
Since the second time I met Draco, we have insulted, punched, and hexed each other. Then I saw him at his weakest. When he was crying, when he lowered his wand. When he was staring at my limp body in Hagrid’s arms, right before his parents took him to safety. His lower lip was quivering. I’d have died—really died—to kiss him then. The need to comfort him was a fierce, burning thing. It’s not my hero complex, as Ginny would probably tease me. It’s a more vital, baser urge. With Draco, interest turned to disdain turned to understanding turned to acceptance turned to attraction and more. So I cannot relax and go on with my life, not without Draco being part of it.  
Ron is almost right though, I am _ more _than obsessed with Draco. I want him so fiercely it hurts. I want him to love me. It’s not a childish tantrum, either. I’ve never been allowed the luxury of one. I’ve never wanted anything for myself. Now I want Draco. I can’t think about anyone else. I can’t take my eyes off him. I wonder if I’m featured in the dictionary under the entry “obsessed”.  
  
Me caressing Draco’s name on the Marauder’s Map all night long, imagining his skin instead of the parchment; me thinking about getting the Dragon Constellation tattooed all around my bellybutton to carry his stars with me; me staring at the index of a book about magical creatures Hermione lent me because it features the Latin word “Draco” in it. Sadly, said book does not explain neither how to catch yourself a dragon nor how to keep him. How to make him love you.  
Draco’s been practically avoiding me this year. He barely acknowledged me when I gave him his wand back. He’s not talking to me, not even to insult me. He barely looks at me. I know Malfoys don’t do grateful and I fear he might be thinking he owes me. I spared his mother Azkaban, after all. She saved my life, though, so I’d say we’re even.  
  
What can I do to get his attention back? Do it the blunt way, cornering him and snogging him senseless probably won’t work—he’s a Slytherin, after all. Sending my friends to tell his friends that I like him is way too Hufflepuff. No, I must think of a subtler plan. I was almost sorted in Slytherin, after all. I wonder…_  
  
  
  
  
  
Someone  _is_  stalking me.  
  
For a while I suspected Potter and his ridiculous Invisibility Cloak but every attempt to catch him red-handed failed. The calculating smile he sports every time we cross paths is suspicious but I can’t very well ask the teachers for help against the very same Golden Boy Saviour who defended Mother and me at the trials.  
  
I tried to ignore the obnoxious git. I really tried. I only looked at him with the corner of my eyes, and I’m sure he didn’t catch me once. I was doing well until the Transfigurations lesson when he could not turn his lizard into a Puffskein—he only managed to make it silvery. He barely looked at me, back in those days, and it should have made it easier for me to ignore him. No such luck. I’ve never been good at ignoring him anyway. I had to taunt him. I asked him why his wand wasn’t working for him, whether he’d like mine better, and if I should give it back to him. I found myself pressed on the wall, his hands closing around my neck, faster than one can cast  _Impedimenta_. McGonagall gave us both detention and we spent a week’s worth of afternoons by the lakeshore picking up debris. Every ripple in the water made me jump. The Giant Squid could have decided we were invading its territory, after all, and taken measures to chase us away. Potter worked in frustrating silence.  
  
He left me alone after that. If it’s really him spying on me as a twisted revenge, or for whatever reason his tiny brain provided, I should be able to catch him. No help will come from the teachers, so much is clear. I’ll be on the lookout.  
  
  
  
  
  
 _He offered me his wand. Draco had the nerve to offer me his_ wand _. I had him pressed between my body and the wall in no time, my fingers grasping at his sweet collarbone. I’d have kissed him too were it not for McGonagall giving us both detention.  
  
I’ve never been this happy about a detention, at that. A daily date with Draco, it felt like. I can still see the sweet shape of his arse as he bent down to pick up rocks and dead branches. I can still trace the lines of his torso under his white shirt, sheer with perspiration. I can almost smell him still.  
He looked at the lake more than at me, his eyes shadowed and deeper than the lake itself. Did he fear that the Giant Squid would come up and snatch him? In the squid’s shoes—if squids could have shoes—I would. Having ten arms would barely be enough to hold Draco the way I want to. More likely, he was hoping the Squid would make an appearance. He probably thinks the Squid looks prettier than me, and is a more suitable company. He’d probably sooner be close to the Squid than to me. Now, that’s an idea. I need to check Hermione’s book…_  
  
I’m studying in the common room when I feel again the weight of a stare on my neck. Since I am alone in the room with my back towards the window it  _is_  odd. I turn quickly, spotting the big jelly eyes of the Giant Squid peering inside. What an odd shade of green for a mollusc’s eyes…  
The creature is creepy. I knock on the glass and it disappears in a cloud of black ink.  
It wasn’t Potter after all. I shouldn’t feel so disappointed. The truth is, I’m scared. I can handle Potter, but this?  
  
  
  
  
  
 _It worked.  
  
I wasn’t spying. It’s perfectly normal for the Giant Squid to float in the depths, and if its path brings it toward the Slytherin common room window, who’s to blame it? No one can tell it had a little _ encouragement _to head there._  
  
  
  
  
  
Since I caught the Giant Squid spying on me I can’t stand to stay in the common room. I’ve taken up long walks outside. I feel safer on the open ground. I have a favourite tree, a big apple tree. Its trunk is perfectly shaped for me to lean on, and I like to sit there to study. It’s a bit closer to the lake than I find safe but it’s not like the beast can jump out of the water, after all.  
  
The beast can. I’m engrossed in a new Potions book when I feel something wet caressing my cheek. A tentacle, all slimy and flabby. Eeew. I bat it away and  _Scourgify_  my face raw.  
  
I’d file a complaint if I thought it would be of any use; that oaf Hagrid would probably side with the Squid and McGonagall listens to him way too much. Where’s the Saviour when one needs him?  
  
  
  
  
  
 _Draco’s cheek is the softest, blushing thing.  
  
It’s odd to feel in my fingertips sensations coming from tentacles. This doesn’t take anything away from the raw pleasure of being able to caress Draco’s face. Were I to do it with my own hand, I doubt his reaction will be as mild as it was. I’ll content myself with this, for now. I dearly hope we’ll get to the point when Draco will crave _ my _touch, though. I just have to give him time._  
  
  
  
  
  
Malfoys are not swayed from their chosen path by trivialities; I decide not to renounce to my tree. The Giant Squid won’t chase me away from my favourite spot. I’ll study with an eye on the water; maybe I’ll cast a Shield Spell upon my person. If I spot suspicious ripples I’ll retire farther away from the water.  
  
I start from my reading when feeling a tentacle wrapped around my ankle. The beast will not drag me into the lake to have its wicked way with me! A quick  _Stupeficium_  makes the tentacle withdraw; I am victorious!  
  
  
  
  
  
 _I have never appreciated Draco’s aristocratic stubbornness as I do today. He was sitting by his usual tree despite everything.  
  
I guess he’s trying to tame the Squid. We’ll see who tames whom in the end.  
  
Oh, to be able to travel all the way up his legs! It’s a pity squids do not have tongues, or I’d…  
I just had to lie down for a while, because the idea of kissing Draco made me dizzy. From the common room I can hear Hermione complaining that I’m not doing my homework. I bet she doesn’t know how it feels to have your legs jellified with desire. All ten legs. _  
  
  
  
  
  
My life is over. Madam Hooch decided that we Eighth Year students are not practicing enough sport. We need more physical activity to keep our bodies healthy, she said. Therefore, swimming lessons will be compulsory from now on. If she thinks I’ll dive willingly in that chilled, infested lake she’s gravely mistaken. I should be excused from this. My body is already perfect, after all, thank you very much.  
  
I’ll only attend for the pleasure of seeing Precious Potter in his swim trunks. For the blackmailing value, of course. I doubt he will look as gorgeous as me.  
  
For the first swimming lesson we’re paired with Hufflepuffs. No Potter in sight. Just my luck. At least Professor Hooch transfigured the Quidditch Pitch into a pool so I don’t need to worry about the Squid.  
  
Amazingly, I like swimming. I like how my body tenses and flexes and how fast I can move. I like the water sluicing all around.  
  
After the lesson we’re divided in three groups: students who can’t be trusted not to sink, students able to move in the water in a dog-like fashion, and apt swimmers. The latter group is deemed fit to swim in the lake from the next lesson on but my pride in being a natural quickly melts into alarm.  
I do not fancy a dive in the icy cold waters, for one. Merpeople dwell there and the nasty, grabby squids, and other unnamed, slimy, and possibly tentacled creatures I do not wish to be groped by. Furthermore, let’s face it, level groups? I’ll never see Potter in the lake. I’m sure the so-called Triwizard Fourth Champion would have drowned long ago if not for Gillyweed …  
  
  
  
  
  
 _I’m happy to say Madam Hooch agreed with my suggestion about physical exercise. Sadly, she chose not to use the lake for the first lesson. More sadly, I could not even reach the area by broom, as she cancelled Quidditch training and it would have been suspicious for me to be flying around the Pitch. Therefore, Draco was too far away for me to properly enjoy the sight of him in his tight bath trunks. However, from what I could see, he looked happy in the water. I bet he’ll be swimming in the lake in no time. Then it won’t be only the sight of him I’ll be enjoying._  
  
  
  
  
  
I’m getting ready for bed when Blaise screams. I rush to the common room to find my friend staring open-mouthed at the window. The water is dark and I barely can make out the shape of the blasted cephalopod squirting away. The glass is so unclean I wonder why the house elves didn’t—then I focus on the letters written in coils of black ink already diffusing away: “I love you, Draco.”  
  
It’s not possible. The Giant Squid can write? More to the point, the Giant Squid has a thing for me? That’s insane! On the other hand, every creature crushing on me shows great amounts of good taste. Still, eeew.  
  
Is it regret I feel at the fact that the author of those letters is the Squid and not Potter?  
  
  
  
  
  
 _First step, declaring your intentions. Done.  
  
I hope it reassures Draco, to know I’m only doing this out of love. Even if he doesn’t know it’s me doing it. Getting a cephalopod to write was not an easy accomplishment, though the amazed look on Draco’s face was well worth it. Knowing the beast has soft feelings toward him will surely make him feel more at ease the next time the squid will go near him. Maybe he won’t bat the tentacles away so quickly, if he knows he’s being caressed out of affection. _  
  
  
  
  
  
Still surprised by last night revelation, I pay a quick visit to the library in search of books about molluscs. I’m reading  _Architeutis: the legends and the truth_  under the usual apple tree when the distinctive sensation of being stared at settles on me. The Squid is floating nearby, waving its tentacles in gentle beckoning toward me. Its skin is a whirlwind of changing colours; the iridescent blues and greens remind me oddly of Potter’s eyes. I stare at the patterns in fascination until a slimy touch on my ankle rouses me from my stupor. I swat it away abruptly. The offending tentacle is withdrawn but the beast does not swim away; it seems to hold my gaze and refuses to be stared down.  
  
On the other shore of the lake a speckle of light catches my attention. A sunbeam reflected off someone’s glasses? I’m sure the faraway figure is Potter, checking me. Is he jealous because the squid likes  _me_  better? I do not have time to waste thinking about Potter; I need to understand if the beast can be a danger to me. I soon find out the book I’m reading was written by a Muggle whose ranting about krakens and shipwrecks does not reassure me in the slightest. The Squid hasn’t harmed me so far but I dread tomorrow’s swimming lesson all the same.  
  
  
  
  
  
 _Draco still doesn’t want to be touched but he stared at my… at the squid’s skin with interest today. Making eye contact is very important in taming a dragon. Draco’s eyes are amazingly bright and deep. For a moment, it felt like he was really seeing me, underneath every mask and spell.  
Squids’ eyes are amazingly human.  
  
Draco looks so beautiful, whichever set of pupils I’m looking at him through.  
  
Making him willingly cave in to touch is the next step. _  
  
  
  
  
  
With relief I notice that bright, floating lights delimit the area of the lake where we’re supposed to swim. Madam Hooch assures us that the Merpeople agreed to allow us the use of that space; they will also keep their beasts in check.  
  
Relieved, I raise my arms, stretching myself and getting ready to plunge into the water—and collecting more than a few appreciative ogles from Hufflepuff girls, not that I care. I dive in a perfect arch and spare a thankful thought to the Warming spell I cast over myself in the changing room. Even with that, the water is chilly. As I resurface I toss my wet hair out of my eyes in a shower of droplets and I start off with butterfly strokes.  
  
For a moment I wonder what Potter is doing and I really wish he were watching me somehow; I look fetching and I know it.  
  
The rhythm of my strokes is hypnotizing and I lose myself in the motion. I’m halfway through the length of the lake when I realize that no other student is following me and that the floating lights are nowhere in sight. I’m out of the safe area! A second later, rubbery ropes wound tightly around my midriff; tentacles! The silly cephalopod dared to grab me! The nerve of the beast! I struggle against the coils, to no avail. As soon as I manage to detach one sucker from my skin—and I hope it won’t leave marks or I’ll have deep-fried squid rings for dinner—others make purchase on me. Remembering the beast has ten tentacles against my two hands does not help in the slightest. I put up some fight but in a few minutes every single tentacle of the beast is encircling me, binding my wrists and ankles and thighs. I’m wrapped up in the slimiest embrace of my life.  
  
After a while, I notice that the Squid is holding me quite carefully, keeping my head over the water so I can breathe. Knowing I’m not in immediate danger of death by drowning helps me relax. Maybe the beast really just wants to hug me. How can I blame it? It clearly has more good sense than Potter, in this matter. How am I to get it to release me, though? I tug my right arm and the beast’s hold gives a bit. Tentatively, I stroke the tentacle wrapped around my belly and I feel the Squid’s muscles contract. A moment later we’re in motion, headed toward the shore.  
  
My sight is clouded by the spray of water but I can make out that we’re moving toward a figure sitting under a tree—my tree? The Squid halts abruptly, lifting me up until I’m almost entirely out of the water. I’m dripping and it’s cold, my Warming Charm long gone. I shake my head to dislodge my soaked hair from my face and would have rubbed my eyes if my hands were free, but the tentacles are holding my limbs spread apart, again. For a moment I doubt my eyesight. The person sitting casually on the shore, clad in the skimpiest and reddest bath trunks I’ve ever seen, is Potter.  
  
He smiles brightly and addresses me casually, “Fancy meeting you here, Malfoy. Want some treacle tart?”  
  
He holds out his hand, offering me a slice of the sweet. His face is set in a pleasant expression and he’s acting completely unsurprised, as if he expected the Giant Squid to bring him guests for tea.  
His eyes are impossibly green; greener than the bottom of the lake—Potter green, deep and intense. His mouth looks strangely more edible than the treacle tart in his hand. He smiles, and stares, and waits for my answer. Somehow, he looks both intent and absent.  
  
  
  
I can feel a blush blooming on my cheekbones. I shake my head because I do not want a taste of the tart. Of his mouth, on the other hand… But I’m still almost naked and dripping chilled water, and I’m still being held by an infatuated cephalopod. I blurt out the first thing passing in my mind, and I only realize how ugly my answer is when it’s out of my mouth. “My mother taught me not to swim immediately after eating, surely eating _while_  swimming is to be avoided as well. Didn’t your mother teach you the same?”  
  
Potter’s face does not show much of a reaction, despite my nasty words, but the tentacles of the Squid tighten unpleasantly around my limbs. I yelp in discomfort and I start fighting the supple, slimy hold, letting the beast—and the boy—hear a piece of my mind on the matter. “Let me go, you silly beast! Potter, aren’t you supposed to be the Saviour? Save me! I’m not cephalopod food, for Salazar’s sake!”  
  
I struggle amongst splashes of water in vain. I seriously start to fear I’m going to be drowned by the Squid right under Potter’s faraway gaze and his voice startles me. He sounds cold, detached. “You are not in danger, Malfoy. This time you don’t need to be rescued.”  
  
I’d take anger over fear, any day. “What? Are you daft? Potter, I’m drowning here! Bet you planned this whole charade just to witness my death!”  
  
At this, Potter has the nerve to get up and leave. Sadly, I cannot spare more than a passing thought to the fine shape of his arse encased in the red bath trunks. I still can’t believe he’s abandoning me here in this dangerous predicament.  
  
The tentacle wrapped around my waist slides towards my groin menacingly. I can’t allow the Squid to manhandle—or fondle—me but how can I make it stop? It’s all so humiliating…. Again, the words are out of my mouth before my brain can filter them. “Please, release me. Please. Put me down. Don’t touch me, please…”  
  
Mother always said that “Please” is a magical word. I suddenly find myself alone in the lake, the tentacles withdrawn from my person. Spluttering and shivering, I reach the shore.  
  
Why isn’t Potter here to wrap me up in a warm towel and a warmer embrace? I choke back my tears of frustration and head towards the castle—and hot tea.  
  
  
  
  
  
 _Merlin, what have I done to Draco?  
  
At first, everything was fine. I was projecting my will onto the mind of the Giant Squid with great care. The sensations I received back left me short of breath and wishing I’d worn looser bathing trunks. The feeling of holding Draco, coupled with the sight of his almost naked, dripping body, was overwhelming. He seemed totally at ease in the tenfold embrace. He even petted my arm—one of the tentacles, I mean.  
  
I guess he was a bit surprised to see me, but not unpleasantly so. I wonder how I look like when I’m using the spell and my consciousness is shared with the Squid… Judging from Draco’s hint of a smile, not too bad.  
  
So why couldn’t he be nicer and accept the treacle tart? We could have had a good time, sitting together on the shore, and I would have very much liked to claim his lips.  
  
Then he had to open his mouth and hurt me. He always hurts me with his sharp tongue. How did I forget this? At his nasty words, something in me rebelled—but was it in me? I suddenly wanted him to submit, to fold his limbs and beg for my attention. So I tightened the tentacles’ grip and watched him struggle in the most delectable way against my hold. The spray of water in the sunlight painted his pale skin with dancing rainbows I’d have loved to lick away.  
  
No. What I really wanted was to wrap myself around him and bind him tightly with all my tentacles except one, to grip him so hard he’d be forced to lay eggs…  
  
My mind screamed, “Draco is a male, he can’t lay eggs!” so loud I had to get away from the shore. I could still hear him begging to be released and, with the last strands of my willpower, I managed to set him free from the Squid.  
  
Some Saviour I am! Draco was right… I should have helped him. I shouldn’t have put him in such a situation at all. I should _ Finite _this silly spell. He’ll never love me anyway.  
  
And yet, I was able to hold him. He liked it. He would have been happy to be simply embraced by all my tentacles. It was seeing my ugly, pale, mammalian body that upset him. I’ll make it up to him, next time he approaches the waters. I’ll place my suckers all over his… No, I will not. I won’t use the spell again. _  
  
  
  
  
  
Soaked and chilled, I make my grand entry in our common room. Blaise laughs so hard as I tell him my misfortunes that I’m sorely tempted to turn him into fish food. I don’t know what he finds so funny. Maybe he’s plain envious; he does not have a magical beast courting him, after all.  
However, being teased about my “mollusc would-be-lover” gets old pretty soon and if I hear the words “sucked in by a sucker-armed beast” again I’ll hex Blaise into next century.  
  
Pansy is not being helpful either as she only sniggers.  
  
She has the grace to look worried for me only when I refuse the hot bath she offered to get running.  
I do not mention Potter’s presence. It still upsets me. Furthermore, I don’t need to be teased about my supposed obsession for the Golden Boy.  
  
I was happy while swimming. Being held and carried by the Squid was not so bad. Seeing Potter was surreal, but promising nonetheless. Then I had to open my silly mouth and Potter was offended; the Squid attempted to kill me, and he  _left me there to die alone_. Only my good manners saved me. Maybe I could have used them before and avoided to mentioning Potter’s deceased mother. But how am I supposed to keep track of all his dead relatives? There are so many…  
  
I’m not insensitive, though. Maybe I should simply go to Potter and admit that I’m sorry for what I said and willing to make it up to him. Scratch that. I don’t want him to refuse me again. And he  _will_  refuse me. He never professed feelings for me, after all. Not that it would guarantee anything. The Squid itself tried to drown me, even after writing declarations of love. Only the barest trace of those words lingers on the glass panel and yet it’s there. It must mean…  
  
It is an extraordinary day in Avalon when a Malfoy admits to having been mistaken.  
  
I was wrong in reading the Squid’s intentions earlier. It clearly did  _not_  want to drown me. It was upset that Potter’s presence was upsetting me. Everything was fine before I spotted Scarhead.  
Yes. The Squid tightened its hold on me to keep me closer, to protect me from Potter. It was fighting against Potter, not me. So what if I almost got a mouthful of lake water in my lungs? How could the Squid know I need to breathe air? It was a simple misunderstanding.  
  
The Squid loves me, even if Potter doesn’t.  
  
  
  
  
  
 _I had a talk with Ron today. He said he was sorry to see me upset, and that he was sure that Draco is not Blaise’s boyfriend. He said he understood that my feelings for Draco may be real and he won’t blame me if I pursue him. He said he’s just sick of seeing me moping and staring off into empty space.  
  
I said I can’t ask Malfoy out, as he’d only laugh at me, and possibly hex me.  
  
Ron invited me to play Quidditch to keep my mind off things. His mind as well, I guess. As we fly, he tells me about his totally unexpected break-up with Hermione. This takes me by surprise. Such a good friend I am! I’ve been so involved in my project to seduce Draco—in Squid form—that I didn’t pay attention to the love life of my best friends! I try to set aside the image of Draco’s lean, muscled body, offering Ron what comfort I can. He swears that he’s fine, that he loved Hermione mostly as a friend and did not properly love-love her and that he’s already moving on, but still. I feel like their break-up is my fault and try to make it up to Ron playing with him well past the hour I’d have liked to have called it a day. _  
  
  
  
  
  
The Squid is not as much in love with me as I thought. I spent all the day outside and it never approached me. I guess it’s still offended by my attempts to be released yesterday. I should not have struggled and wriggled so hard. How can I get its affection back? I must ask Blaise to research the matter.  
  
Blaise is strongly against my plan of sending him to  _borrow_  some Gillyweed from Slughorn’s stock. At least he agrees to find some books on cephalopod behaviour for me from the library. Apparently, he has to meet his new girlfriend there anyway. I’m sure there is no girlfriend; he just can’t resist bragging and posing like a  _Don Giovanni_. As if it’s possible that he’ll get lucky in the library while I’m lying here, dejected and alone, without the barest hint of sepia-ink-written declarations of love on my window.  
  
I wonder whether the Squid will like chocolates. At that, does Honeydukes sell fish-flavoured chocolates?  
  
No swimming lessons today. No cuddly tentacles for me either. I’ve been restless the whole day.  
The full moon shines on the lake, and I think it’s a great night for skinny dipping. Maybe I’ll be forgiven if I show myself now.  
  
  
  
  
  
 _As I finally sit on the bed I’m knackered. I can barely keep my eyes open but I need to check the Map. Draco’s dot is by the lakeshore. As I stare, it moves inside the water. This can only mean… Draco is willingly swimming in the lake, again, despite the Squid. Maybe he even wants to meet the Squid. It can be dangerous for him, to venture out in the open. I know I’ve sworn to myself I’d never use the spell again but controlling the beast now may be the only way to keep him safe. I can’t let the Squid ravage him; it’s entirely possible that my feelings for Draco leaked into its mind, after all.  
Quick as the lightning marking my forehead, I perform the spell and head toward the lake. _  
  
  
  
  
  
The water feels warmer tonight; maybe it’s just my boiling blood.  
  
I’m idly floating on my back when I feel the unmistakable caress of tentacles on my arse cheeks. I’m still loved, then. The tentacles slither all over my body, cupping and caressing. I starfish-spread my limbs in welcome. Is it wrong that I find this situation pleasurable?  
  
Oh yes, it is very, very wrong! It’s a beast that’s fondling me so intimately, for Salazar’s sake! It’s not Potter!  _Why_  is it not Potter? I struggle as hard as I can to get free, not caring that the Squid’s suckers are leaving round bruises all over my skin. To think they felt like a million mouths kissing me just a moment ago… But I don’t want a million foreign mouths; I only want Potter’s.  
I whimper and moan and beg to be released to no avail. I’m pleading with the beast, just like I did last time. Could I possibly reach a lower point? Unbidden, the image of Potter’s burning eyes presents itself; how humiliating would it be if he could see me now! Strangely, it is this that gives me the strength to fight both the languor in my limbs and the Squid. With a jerk, I break free, surprised to feel the vicious grip releasing me and I climb clumsily out of the lake.  
  
I don my robes and stumble back toward the castle. As soon as I reach the common room, Pansy starts fussing over me. It takes me a while to understand it’s because my skin is marked by round, still-bleeding bruises. I’m dragged to the infirmary before I can utter a word in complaint.  
  
  
  
  
  
 _I reach the shore. Draco is a vision. His pale body gleams, naked in the moonlight. His hair is fanned out in the water like a white peacock’s tail. He’s so beautiful he steals my breath away.  
Then I feel how soft and sweet the curve of his arse is, and every concern about my breathing functions melts away, a puddle of desire pooling in my belly. I’m glad I arrived in time to steer the Squid’s instincts away from violence.  
  
The tentacles stroke Draco lovingly, caressing his willing body. His translucent skin flushes with arousal in the most delicious way. He’s clearly eager to be touched everywhere, judging by his low moans and by the way he spreads his legs open. I want… I want him wanting _ my _touch, not the Squid’s. This is fifty shades of sick and wrong! I can control the beast, though, steer it away from Draco…  
  
No, I want to mate with him. He’s offering himself. But…why isn’t his skin flashing red stripes? He should signal his readiness. Is something wrong with his chromatophores? I latch all my suckers on him, to make his skin gleam crimson. Draco fights fiercely.  
  
Wait… I am Harry Potter! I am not a Giant Squid in heat! I won’t hurt Draco! Gathering all my willpower, I chase the Squid into the depths of the lake.  
  
As soon as it’s over, I turn toward Draco’s crouched shape, swallowing my shame. I almost had him violated by a mollusc. I need to help him, to bring him to safety. I need to _ Obliviate _myself and never show him my face again. As I try to make up my mind, he disappears inside the castle._  
  
  
  
  
  
Madam Pomfrey rushes to Pansy’s call; she makes me drink a lot of Blood Replenishing Potion, cleans me more thoroughly than I’m comfortable with and covers me in some anti-bruise balm that should speed up skin-repair. She then recommends rest and leaves to attend another call.  
Pansy pats my shoulder; her shrill voice makes me startle. “Don’t worry, Draco, I’ll find out what Potter did to you.”  
  
I muster my best incredulity-laden drawl and ask her why she thinks Potter is involved in this matter.  
  
Her answer is, “Everything that ever happened to you was somehow related to Potter. And Voldemort, I suppose. Though even the Dark Lord’s fate was attached to Potter’s. Fine then. Your current predicament is certainly Potter’s fault. You try to sleep, Draco. I’ll set things right. Would you like it if I were to serve you Potter’s skin on a silver platter? Will it placate you?”  
  
The potions Madam Pomfrey gave me must be addling my brain because I answer, “Only if said skin is still attached to a very alive, naked and willing Potter.”  
  
As she leaves, I may or may not hear her mumble, “I knew you wanted the speccy git. It was time you admitted it aloud…”  
  
  
  
  
  
“You awake, Draco? What happened to you? Is it really Potter’s fault?”  
  
I turn toward the voice. Blaise is leaning on the doorframe, looking both amused and concerned.  
I groan and ask him who told him so.  
  
His answer might have taken me by surprise, were I not already overwhelmed by the events. “Pansy just had a shouting match with Granger. They both shrieked like banshees, I’m surprised you didn’t overhear. Our Pans accused Granger of having allowed—or possibly helped—Potter to hurt you. As soon as she finished screaming, Hermione stated that she’s been worried for Potter lately.  
  
Apparently, Scarhead did not do his homework, despite having been caught staring at some book. They are still trying to ascertain what Potter’s current problem is and how it relates to you. I felt it was safe to leave them alone together, so I came to check on you.”  
  
There’s still one point that escapes my higher understanding of things. “But how comes Granger and Pansy met and in your presence to boot? Where? And what are you doing here anyway?”  
Blaise shrugs. “I was in the library with Granger.”  
  
I look at him in utter disbelief. “Doing what? Weren’t you going to see your girlfriend?”  
  
His smirk could rival with mine as he explains the matter. “Yes. That’s Granger. Let’s just say that she was giving me a full laryngoscopy with her tongue.” He arches an eyebrow meaningfully. “We heard footsteps approaching. I startled and bit her tongue. My  _Episkey_  is not much, and it didn’t stop the bleeding, so I accompanied her to Madam Pomfrey. We were done and ready to leave her office when Pansy came out of the infirmary…”  
  
I latch onto the important bit of information. “Really, Blaise? With Granger?”  
  
Under my stare, he has the grace to blush. He’s quick to regain his composure, however.  
“Never mind that, Draco. You still have to explain what happened to you. Pansy said you were a mess, all covered in bruises and blood. What was it, love bites? Was it Potter? If so, you’ve had the first and last chance to be with him. If Granger forms an alliance with Pansy, Potter won’t survive another day. Granger is a feisty wee thing, let me tell you. She is as fierce in rage as she is in passion….”  
  
This annoys me to no end. “Stop bragging about your ridiculous, non-existent sex life, Zabini. So you had a snogging session with Granger. No great deal. I had the Giant Squid hitting on me, no less…”  
  
With this, I turn my back and pretend to sleep, doing my best to ignore both Blaise and my regret that the marks on my skin are not Potter’s mouth-shaped.  
  
  
  
  
  
I find myself in bed without knowing how I got there. I do not sleep nor am I aware of my surroundings. Guilt and shame fill up my brain. Never mind Crucio _and_ Imperio _, the real Unforgivable thing is what I did to Draco. And I claim to love him! How could I trust a clearly Dark spell? Was I so lust-addled not to notice? Draco could have been seriously hurt…  
I’m still wallowing in my well-deserved remorse when two sets of small hands shake me forcefully out of my guilt trip.  
  
Hermione I expected, but what is Parkinson doing here? Apart from yelling at me, of course.  
“Potter, you scatter-brained oaf! What did you do to Draco? He really fancied you, you know—not that he’d admit it—and you had to… to maul him, and soak him and… I don’t know what kinky sick game you played with him; and that’s saying something. The worst thing is, you didn’t even allow him to see it was you! He’s still blabbering about tentacles…”  
  
Hermione cuts into her rant. “Tentacles, Harry! Weren’t you reading about Squids the other day? What have you been up to?”  
  
I swear these two could have stared down a Basilisk. I blurt out everything.  
  
When I’m done, Hermione looks shocked; Pansy sniggers. “If this is how you feel, you have to make it up to Draco. Sharing your mind with the Squid to court him… Wouldn’t it have been easier to man up and ask him out like normal people do?”  
  
Hermione looks more shocked.  
  
I can’t believe that Parkinson will allow me to get close to Draco again. I sigh in relief. As she is Draco’s best friend, her apparent willingness to forgive me means a lot.  
  
I hasten to reassure her of my good intentions. “I’ll go to Draco straight away, confess everything, ask for his forgiveness, make amends…”  
  
Pansy smacks me in the head. “Are you daft, Scarhead? Draco thinks the Squid was hitting on him. He doesn’t suspect you are involved. For him, you are an untainted hero. I just want him to be happy. You can’t tell him what you did just to unburden yourself, not ever…”  
  
I start to answer that it’s fine, that I won’t, when Hermione cuts in worriedly.  
  
“My opinions on the whole matter aside, this will never work. Harry has guilt written all over his face. How do you think he’ll fool Malfoy into believing…?”  
  
I recoil under Parkinson’s scrutiny as she considers Hermione’s question and raises her wand. “You’re right, I suppose. _ Obliviate _!”  
  
I blink. What are Hermione and Parkinson doing in my bedroom?  
  
They clearly disregard my questioning look.  
  
Hermione gapes at Parkinson, who whispers, “Not a word, Granger. You know it was the only way.”  
  
Hermione nods, somewhat reluctantly, and Pansy turns to stare me squarely in the eyes.  
  
“Potter, what do you know about cephalopods?”  
  
“What? Oh, you mean cuttlefish?” Still perplexed, I recollect the little I know. “They live in the sea. Make ink, can be deep-fried. Why?”  
  
“Never mind that. Are you in love with Draco?”  
  
“Am I…what?” I splutter. Hermione comes to my rescue. Or maybe not.  
  
“Just answer, Harry.”  
  
“Yes, I very much am,” I almost yell, my face quickly becoming a nice shade of Gryffindor red.  
  
“Well then, meet him by the lake this afternoon. He might not be averse to the notion of being your boyfriend, if you woo him properly.”  
  
With this astonishing sentence, Pansy grabs Hermione’s elbow and drags her away. I’m still dumbstruck as I overhear her whispered question. “By the way, Granger, I don’t get why you ditched the ginger-head. He’s quite hot, for a Weasel. Do you mind if I have a go at him?” _  
  
  
  
  
  
I’m not scared. The Squid was being too rough for my liking and I refused its advances; that’s all. Nothing will keep me from sitting all afternoon underneath my apple tree. Not after Pansy revealed to me that she overheard Potter tell Hermione he planned to ask me out today.  
  
Finally, the speccy git has seen the light of reason, then.  
  
I sit down comfortably, cast a strong anti-Squid ward, crack my new book open and wait.  
  
A light hand tucking a stand of hair behind my ear startles me and I lift my face. The books falls out of my hand, forgotten. Potter stares at me, fidgeting, with a half smile tucked in the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Draco.”  
  
“Potter.”  
  
“I… I like you. A lot. I lo—loo—look, I wanted to ask you—Would you—Do you want—”  
  
Merlin save me from bumbling idiots!  
  
“Yes, Harry. I do. You may kiss me now.”  
  
  
  
  
  
I got what I’ve spent years longing for. The world makes sense again.  
  
Potter is holding me so tightly it almost hurts but not quite. His eyes burn me with green fire. His mouth is sweet, now fiercely claiming mine and now allowing my tongue to search it.  
  
I do not regret the whole Squid-related incident. Apparently, it just served to make Potter jealous, jealous enough to make him decide to pursue me at last. That he was jealous of an invertebrate is quite flattering, at that.  
  
The only downside of my present situation is: I’ve lost an admirer.  
  
I hide my face in Potter’s neck and steal a glance at the lake. Its surface is a mirror, un-rippled and still.  
  
It’s fine, though. Ten arms and millions of suckers were too much. Potter’s body parts, on the other hand, I can handle just fine.

 

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